


In Praise of Laguistis!

by Motchi



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Crack Relationships, F/M, Humor, Rarepair, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-10-25 02:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motchi/pseuds/Motchi
Summary: In praise of this pairing and the odd times I feel like writing it! Quistis/Laguna drabblets and ficlets, post-FF8





	1. In Praise of the Older Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for NineShadows.
> 
> Prompt: “Like a fish needs a bicycle.”

###  **In Praise of the Older Man.**

All her life she'd been told she was an old woman trapped in a young woman's body. And maybe, just maybe, after hearing it for so long, she'd begun to believe it.

It would certainly explain her current situation.

Twenty going on forty-five, meet forty-five going on twenty. _Hi, how are you? Looking pretty good there, I must say. Oh, am I in your lap? Oh, is this your office? Your chair? And oh, is that a machine gun in your pocket or are you in denial, Mr. President?_

A groan. "Quistis, I'm too old for you. You need me like a fish needs a bicycle." His hands, however, had yet to stop their wandering.

She smiled in triumph. "Laguna, sometimes even fish know a good ride when they see one."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This author replies to comments unless on hiatus.


	2. In Praise of the Younger Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for bottle of shine's "Kissing Battle" on LJ many, many years ago.

###  **In Praise of the Younger Woman.**

Her hair's somewhere between shimmery gold and dull straw, depending on the time of day. Her scent—well, he's not going to lie—sometimes she smells like she's been swinging a whip in a humid gym instead of grading papers. It shouldn't turn him on, but it does—the same way a dirt crust around a wedding ring often led to stolen moments in a garden on a hill.

She can't sing, though it doesn't prevent her from trying. Every weekend, his favorite song dies a mangled, watery death. He doesn't have the heart to tell her the bathroom isn't soundproof because it's his bathroom she's in, and if he tells her, there's a chance it might become another man's bathroom, and another man's wedding, and another man's child, and another memory to regret.

She's young—_Hyne, she's young_—but older than his son, which is only mildly comforting. She's still young enough to be his daughter, and the thought often makes him feel like a dirty old man. But when they're together, he feels like a _young_ old man. It's the way she purses her lips at him, he thinks. And lectures him. And laughs with him. And lounges in bed on Sundays with him. And reminds him of how much he hates the word "widower".

"Laguna," she says. Her lips are slightly chapped. "Take your damn hands out of your pockets when you kiss me."

She shouldn't fit, but she does.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This author replies to comments unless on hiatus.


	3. In Praise of the Scientific Method

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for bottle of shine’s Trick or Treat meme on LJ many, many years ago.

###  **  
In Praise of the Scientific Method.**

  
  
It happened, and then it was over. And in its wake was a lot of confusion and scattered paperwork.  
  
Her glasses had been knocked askew. Quistis straightened them then rubbed the growing bump on her forehead. "Did you just kiss me?" she asked.  
  
"Er, I think so." Laguna rubbed the matching bump on his forehead. "Or I just gave us both concussions."  
  
"Hmm, no." Quistis tapped a finger against lips that still tingled. "I think that was a kiss."  
  
"Oh, but you don't sound so sure. You know what they say, 'Never let a fool kiss you or a kiss fool you.' Which is it in this case?"  
  
"We should do it again," she said, then quickly added, "Process of elimination and all that, of course."  
  
"I've always loved science," Laguna said solemnly.  
  
Then it happened again. And in its wake this time was a little less confusion and a whole lot more scattered paperwork.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This author replies to comments unless on hiatus.


	4. In Praise of the Culinary Arts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer giftfic, written for **NineShadows** and her prompt: "I swear, I didn't know you were allergic!"

###  **In Praise of the Culinary Arts.**

  
When she tells him during a brief lunch break that she wants to come over later and cook for him, he doesn't know what to expect. But Laguna has always heard that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and Quistis is nothing if not a perfectionist. It's only later, while seated across the table from her, that he realizes how susceptible he is to old adages (and other things).

The first course is soup, and Laguna's first reaction to the bowl in front of him is decidedly cool. Soup? But he forces an enthusiastic nod and grin at Quistis as she wrings her hands across the table at him—ostensibly to show his appreciation, but also to remind her that he still has all of his teeth.

When the first tentative sip from his spoon floods his tastebuds with its rich, creamy broth, the room immediately becomes a little warmer. When the next one brings with it the perfectly stirred flavors of leeks and potatoes, he feels a little lightheaded (and other symptoms). Spoonful after spoonful he devours—and when the bowl is empty, Laguna has to loosen his collar.

The second course is Balamb Fish Gratin. When Quistis carefully sets the plate down before him, the aroma of it swells in his mouth. The first bite contains buttery breadcrumbs on top of tender whitefish, and as it slowly dissolves on his tongue it sends a rush of active heat to his memories (and other extremities). Each swallow has Laguna's eyes fluttering and rolling back into his head.

When he finally sets his fork down next to an empty dish, the room is unbearably hot; sitting (and other functions) has become uncomfortable. He grabs for his glass of water and takes great gulps from it like a man dying of thirst. He feels like he is.

"Laguna!" Quistis stands in the doorway of the dining room with a hand to her mouth—the third course is in her other hand, forgotten, as her eyes grow huge with horror. "Why is your face all red? And you're as sweaty as a student in the Fire Cavern! Are you—? I swear, I didn't know you were allergic! For Hyne's sake, where's your med kit?"

Her gape turns wild as she tosses it around the room in desperation. But Laguna shakes his head, gesturing for her to come to him, and when she does he immediately pulls her onto his lap.

Quistis yelps in surprise. "What are you doing?" She squirms and pushes against his arms (and other appendages). Then she stops. There's a thoughtful look on her face when she squirms again, but this time over a strategic location.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asks.

"It sure isn't a food allergy," Laguna assures her. He begins taking little nibbles at her neck (and other parts).

Quistis gasps. "But, dessert—"

"—tastes very good to me," he mumbles. Laguna lifts his head. "I might even want seconds," he says, leering.

Quistis blinks. "Oh." She removes her glasses and sets them on the table next to his plate, then loops her arms around his neck. "Well, you know what they say, the—"

But the rest of her sentence is lost as Laguna proceeds to enthusiastically demonstrate the way his heart (and other organs) feels about her culinary endeavors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This author replies to comments unless on hiatus.


End file.
